A small selection of poems and story excerpts
Shared Uncertainty
Published in Rattle, 2020
Theirs was the poetry
of shared uncertainty
and the tender promise
of holding hands
delighted them both.
of shared uncertainty
and the tender promise
of holding hands
delighted them both.
...........
Bleed Into My Boy
Published in Chronogram, 2021
This is my son,
I draw him a bit darker today.
I draw him a bit darker today.
I press hard on the pen
and feel the weight and watch the ink–
bleed into my boy.
and feel the weight and watch the ink–
bleed into my boy.
I draw him,
and I press hard.
Because I think on him,
I love on him every day.
and I press hard.
Because I think on him,
I love on him every day.
I watch the ink
play through his hair,
dripping into tiny locs–
dreaded.
play through his hair,
dripping into tiny locs–
dreaded.
What is this,
my son, twelve and bigger each day.
I can feel a new firmness in his back
when we wrestle.
my son, twelve and bigger each day.
I can feel a new firmness in his back
when we wrestle.
I think on this sketch.
This darker sketch–
of my boy carried into our lighter town.
He’s chasing a friend across a neighbors yard.
This darker sketch–
of my boy carried into our lighter town.
He’s chasing a friend across a neighbors yard.
How hard do I–
press the pen,
before my boy is a threat,
and not a friend?
press the pen,
before my boy is a threat,
and not a friend?
...........
The Dance of the Unforgotten (Short story excerpt)
Currently being submitted for literary representation
FROM THE ROOFTOP of the clocktower, Loni could see the dead, floating above the village. The night air soothed her mind, and the slate shingles pressed cool against her bare feet.
The small world about her was a regret, of silent buildings, yawning thin grey puffs from their chimneys. An hour before, she had been in her room—making last preparations for the journey; the ropes, the fuel, the balloon.
As she stepped to the edge the moon watched, holding her in the half-light. The bell tolled, and the doves took flight, circling once about her and then vanishing into the night.
A young couple under the streetlamp below were the only souls to see Loni step off the peak. She fell slowly, gently swaying until she drifted above the lovers.
Turning the dial, she worked the burner to a proper flame, warming the air in the balloon that was tethered to her harness. As she rose, she blew them a kiss and called back, “I’m off with the angels…and I pray that I’ll never return.”
(Full version available upon request)
...........
I Stand Here
Published in Chronogram, 2025
I stand here,
watching the faithful
wash the feet of fools,
sharing their lies better than bread.
watching the faithful
wash the feet of fools,
sharing their lies better than bread.
I stand here,
rusting on this rock,
sinking in this harbor,
a colossus of failed destiny.
rusting on this rock,
sinking in this harbor,
a colossus of failed destiny.
Perhaps–
you’ve been inside me.
Parted the copper,
slowly worked your way up my robe.
Searching for my promise,
and a little taste of America.
you’ve been inside me.
Parted the copper,
slowly worked your way up my robe.
Searching for my promise,
and a little taste of America.
Perhaps–
You fancy me,
as some quaint antebellum girl,
with a childish dream.
You fancy me,
as some quaint antebellum girl,
with a childish dream.
Perhaps–
you’ve climbed into my mind.
Starry eyed me.
Red capped me.
Tied me up and wrapped me–
in flags and fetid pride.
you’ve climbed into my mind.
Starry eyed me.
Red capped me.
Tied me up and wrapped me–
in flags and fetid pride.
I stand here
in grey waters,
my torch,
my poor,
my homeless,
out with the tide.
in grey waters,
my torch,
my poor,
my homeless,
out with the tide.
I stand here,
Ashamed.
...........
The Heart of Your Belongings
From The Dance of the Unforgotten
This is our warm house, Edgar—
where horror passed through our hands.
where horror passed through our hands.
Fingers wrapped ’round quill,
inking out your discontent,
your beautiful macabre.
Ah, a story—as only my Edgar could tell.
inking out your discontent,
your beautiful macabre.
Ah, a story—as only my Edgar could tell.
I rest—nervously—within, and await the telling.
Oh no. No dear boy.
You confuse yourself
with your pen.
You confuse yourself
with your pen.
This story you write.
It is only true on the page.
You have done nothing to regret.
There is no body beneath the floorboards.
No pounding from below.
It is only true on the page.
You have done nothing to regret.
There is no body beneath the floorboards.
No pounding from below.
You are a good man and I am the heart.
Are you troubled again by the beating?
It is only me my love,
as I push and pull a ruby tide.
Are you troubled again by the beating?
It is only me my love,
as I push and pull a ruby tide.
My dear Edgar.
My orphaned child–
I would live and die with you.
My orphaned child–
I would live and die with you.
If there be madness,
it dwells afield and about—
not within.
it dwells afield and about—
not within.
Settle the stir my boy.
Your panic has no plot.
We are alone.
Your panic has no plot.
We are alone.
Last night, I felt you in dreadful slumber.
The scream in the pillow.
The sweat in the sheets.
The scream in the pillow.
The sweat in the sheets.
My strange angel,
I fear the terribles are unleashed.
Was it the fever–
the opium, brandy and rum?
I fear the terribles are unleashed.
Was it the fever–
the opium, brandy and rum?
No.
The unmooring lies not in your head,
nor your hand,
nor your heart—
The unmooring lies not in your head,
nor your hand,
nor your heart—
You are a man, born twice,
of grace and grotesque.
Simply a mirror to this disquiet.
of grace and grotesque.
Simply a mirror to this disquiet.
Oh Edgar.
Put away the absinthe.
There is tea in the kitchen.
Warm a cup.
Sit by the window.
Put away the absinthe.
There is tea in the kitchen.
Warm a cup.
Sit by the window.
Or a long walk under the hemlocks?
We will ask a raven to tell us a tale.
We will ask a raven to tell us a tale.
Another story! As only my Edgar knows to tell!
–I’ll rest again–nervously within–awaiting your words.
–I’ll rest again–nervously within–awaiting your words.
Rest a spell and collect your dark drafts.
Let go your fire–
so others might see
the aesthetics of your despair.
Let go your fire–
so others might see
the aesthetics of your despair.
You are the better romantic–
your ache a blessing, your sorrow, a need.
your ache a blessing, your sorrow, a need.
Gentle the tremors.
There is no knife–
No blood–
only the red of the roses.
There is no knife–
No blood–
only the red of the roses.
But you ask if you’ve murdered yourself—
and had me be the blade?
and had me be the blade?
Yes–
You’ve made me your blade.
But I never cut.
You’ve made me your blade.
But I never cut.
Oh Edgar, bless our little home.
And bless you my boy.
Your torments shall not consume you.
Your dread is misplaced.
Your torments shall not consume you.
Your dread is misplaced.
I am the heart of your belongings.
My rivers carry your gift.
My rivers carry your gift.
I beg you consider–
a holiday in the mountains.
Leave your stories to rest,
and return rekindled, curious.
a holiday in the mountains.
Leave your stories to rest,
and return rekindled, curious.
My dear Edgar,
what was never done –
let it be undone.
what was never done –
let it be undone.
My beloved boy.
There is no deed.
No hideous heart.
There is no deed.
No hideous heart.
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